


flowers

by jellijeans



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gardens & Gardening, Guilt, M/M, Mutual Pining, also fun fact this is the 9th dimidue fic on ao3!, i just love them so much, light spoilers for post timeskip blue lions, really just them being soft, specifically what causes dimitri to become un feral again lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 03:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellijeans/pseuds/jellijeans
Summary: Dimitri would offer to help with this, but he knows his own strength; with his Crest, there’s no telling when snipping one branch might become slicing the entire plant—like Mercedes’ scissors, he thinks begrudgingly—and besides, it’s something of a personal ritual for Dedue, and he knows this. The garden is an escape for him, a return to the land he left and the family that will never come back.It doesn’t prevent him from watching, though. And he does watch; takes in every detail as Dedue, out of his armor for once in his life, wearing whatever clothes he’s managed to salvage from other Duscur over the past five years instead, does something so peaceful as tend to flowers, finally let his hands which are so accustomed to killing do something that breathes life instead.(dimitri, dedue, a garden, and just the time they can muster)





	flowers

Tending the flowers has always been Dedue’s favorite pastime.

And Dimitri has watched while he has done so, carefully pruning each and every single one, until the garden as a whole looked perfect, uninhibited by weeds or lack of water or anything else. He gives special attention to the flowers from Duscur, the last connection he has left to his homeland, always has the professor or a monk imbue them with whatever magic they’re willing to spare as they pass by, mulches them himself in lieu of the magic he cannot use. And he does so with such  _ delicacy _ , large hands unshaking and gentle as he trims off the parts of the plants that have died, leaving what’s left to flourish in their place.

Dimitri would offer to help with this, but he knows his own strength; with his Crest, there’s no telling when snipping one branch might become slicing the entire plant—like Mercedes’ scissors, he thinks begrudgingly—and besides, it’s something of a personal ritual for Dedue, and he knows this. The garden is an escape for him, a return to the land he left and the family that will never come back.

It doesn’t prevent him from watching, though. And he does watch; takes in every detail as Dedue, out of his armor for once in his life, wearing whatever clothes he’s managed to salvage from other Duscur over the past five years instead, does something so peaceful as tend to flowers, finally let his hands which are so accustomed to killing do something that breathes life instead.

Dimitri’s own hands itch at the thought. Over the past five years, his hands have done nothing but kill, have done nothing so peaceful as grow flowers on their days off of the battlefield; he has only taken and taken and taken, and never given anything back. Not in the way that Dedue has, not in the way that anyone has; Annette breathes life into the others, Mercedes bakes, Ashe cooks, even Felix inspires the group in his own convoluted way—but he has done nothing of the sort, merely been a burden for the months between their reunion and Rodrigue’s death, merely taken out all of his rage on everyone and everything else.

Their voices still taunt him, but he tries to push them away.

At least Dedue’s voice is no longer among them.

And then, as if Dedue can read his thoughts, he turns around, contentedness and a little bit of concern painting his gaze, and all of Dimitri’s worries fall away.

“Are you certain you’re content to merely watch me garden, Your Highness?” Dedue asks, rubbing his hands together to get some of the dirt off of them. “I am certain there are more pleasurable things for you to be doing right now.”

“No, Dedue, it’s alright,” Dimitri says, offering him a soft smile. After all these years, the expression still feels unfamiliar on his face. “It’s been five years since I saw you last. To see you like this once again brings me more joy than I can describe.”

The corners of Dedue’s mouth quirk upwards in a gentle smile. Always a man of few words—Dimitri did not expect him to respond to that verbally, and he didn’t, and being able to predict that response still brings him a certain level of satisfaction. They know each other so well, from the meals Dedue likes to all of Dimitri’s nightmares, and he’s pleased that even after all these years, that hasn’t changed.

He shifts, then, leaning forward to examine another plant, and Dimitri’s breath catches, watching Dedue’s tunic shift to reveal five years worth of scars, of times when Dimitri was not able to protect him, of times when he should have been there but wasn’t.

And all he can think about is how Dedue almost lost his head for him, how he had been truly willing to die in his stead, how he had almost lost everything, how he had spent five years recovering from his wounds and living in hiding merely for the chance to see him again—he can only think of Dedue’s suffering, the joy he must have felt at finding that Dimitri was still alive and reclaiming what was rightfully his and then the crushing disgust he must have felt at seeing what he had become.

“I’m sorry,” he says out loud, without even meaning to say it, eyes tracing the deep scars that mar the small of Dedue’s back, silvery and harsh and still ever so painful looking.

“What for?” Dedue asks, sitting back. He hasn’t turned around, but Dimitri can tell he’s at full attention, sitting stiffly upwards, hands at attention in his lap.

“I...” His voice echoes off the walls of the greenhouse, and what had felt kindly intimate before now feels suffocatingly small, and the heat is unbearable, even in the simple tunic and breeches he’s taken to wearing in the monastery. His voice is small when he continues. Vulnerable. Like the children they once were, the person he wishes he could be once again. “I couldn’t protect you. I didn’t protect you. For five years.” He exhales. “I could have saved you so much suffering had I just commanded you to go.”

“I would not have followed that order,” Dedue says, voice soft and yet unwavering at the same time. “My responsibility is to protect you, first and foremost. It has always been that way.”

“It shouldn’t have to be,” Dimitri says softly, and Dedue quirks an eyebrow.

“Your Highness?”

“I’m saying—I’m saying that you never should have been burdened with this, Dedue. What happened to Duscur never should have occurred. In a perfect world, you wouldn’t be bound to me like this. Maybe you would even just be gardening at home.”

Both of them pause, and Dimitri watches Dedue with steady eyes, watches as he lets out a silent breath and slumps forward just a little bit, showing Dimitri just a sliver of the weariness and exhaustion he shows to no one else.

“...I am glad to be by your side, regardless of the circumstances, Your Highness,” Dedue says, turning around to face him, “and as for what is done, you were not responsible for it. I do not blame you, nor will I ever. If anything, you are the one trying to make amends, and I will follow that ideal to my death should need arise.”

“Please don’t die,” Dimitri says softly, quietly, voice cracking and revealing the vulnerable man—not a king, not a prince, not even a soldier, just a  _ man _ —beneath. “Promise me you won’t die, Dedue.”

Dimitri knows what he will say next; that he cannot promise something that may be necessary, that Dimitri saved his life and so it’s only fair that it goes in defense of Dimitri too—only he doesn’t say anything, merely turns around and takes Dimitri’s hand and brings it to his lips, leaving a tender kiss on the back of his hand.

Immediately, Dimitri feels his face go blood-red, and without realizing it, a soft noise escapes the back of his throat. Dedue raises an eyebrow at him yet again but nonetheless sets his hand down as he returns to gardening, returning to the infinitely comfortable silence that Dimitri has come to expect from him, and yet Dimitri can’t tear himself out of how  _ flustered _ he is, that even if not on the lips Dedue would  _ kiss _ him, that—

—but he doesn’t say anything, keeps revelling in that silence between them, and then leans over to press a soft kiss to Dedue’s temple before stepping out, and he doesn’t miss the way that Dedue’s entire face tinges red when he does.

**Author's Note:**

> inhales
> 
> i might add more chapters to this who knows!!!!
> 
> dimidue is so soft and i love them so much ,,,, my twitter is @jellijeans please come scream about them with me,,,
> 
> i hope you enjoyed the fic !! thank you for the support!!


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